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Under the Wooden Canopies 

By Delaney Adams 
 
Under the wooden canopies, 
the musky smell of smoke 
from a fire once burning, 
clings to each piece of damp clothing. 
 
Under the wooden canopies 
the dim golden bulb emits a warm glow 
within the darkening dusk 
swallowing the earth,  
casting shadows over the familiar faces. 
 
Under the wooden canopies 
the cool steel strings wore rough callouses into our fingers, 
as the speakers emphasized the sounds 
that seemed to live, and move through the lively air, 
like bright red ribbons, 
wrapping and spinning around dark silhouettes.  
 
Under the wooden canopies 
the sound of laughter and quiet mumbles were muffled, 
by the rhythm of the music and light rain, 
which seemed as if we were in a movie. 
 
Smiles were shared 
and we prospered,  
under the wooden canopies.  

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